“Your agency?”
Suhyeon quickly recalled Seohan’s agency.
Seohan’s former agency was practically a one-man operation, with the Actor Lee Seohan single-handedly supporting almost everything.
The star actor accounted for most of the company’s profits, and the company did everything it could to support that actor.
It was a surprisingly common setup among actor management agencies.
Judging by how they handled things on that variety show, their relationship seemed pretty good.
Even though the company revolved around Seohan, it wasn’t the kind of agency that just leeched off its actors.
They did their best to protect the actor’s image, and they knew how to use the influence that came from their star to help that actor.
In short, it was a company that, in its own way, knew what was right.
Didn’t hyung stay with them even in the future?
As a former idol, Suhyeon didn’t have all the actor agencies memorized.
With dozens of entertainment agencies popping up and disappearing every year, just remembering the most influential or extreme ones was hard enough.
Especially with actor agencies, their value could change drastically depending on which actors they had under contract, so his impression of them was vague.
Most actors only sign with agencies after they’ve half-made it in film or theater. If you’re with a theater troupe, you can get casting info even without a manager… so there’s no rush, I guess.
Still, if an agency had survived for nearly twenty years, you couldn’t help but know about it as a celebrity.
If that company kept signing with someone famous, it was harder not to know.
Yeah. So I’m sure hyung was still working with them even twenty years later… Why did he suddenly switch? Did he move and then go back again?
Suhyeon, lost in thought for a moment, soon set aside his worries and smiled.
Even if he was curious about the reason for the change, it wasn’t that important.
Since they were working together again after a long time, he wanted to have a more meaningful conversation rather than just focus on his curiosity.
Hyung would probably prefer that, too.
Relationships that last need to be nurtured with care.
There was nothing to gain from making things awkward by tacking on a “Why?” to a casual personal story.
“I hope it’s a good place!”
“…I think it’s pretty decent.”
Seohan nodded with a faint smile.
From Seohan’s subtle reaction, Suhyeon realized he’d made the right choice.
His curiosity only grew, but Suhyeon didn’t wipe the lovely smile from his face.
“I finished my movie, too!”
“Already? So the release date’s set?”
“Not yet. The director says it needs more work!”
“Ah, so editing’s not done. Makes sense.”
Calculating the timing, Seohan, like a true sunbae, told him about the things that would happen before and after the release.
Suhyeon, who had never participated in a movie before his regression, listened closely.
Since promotion started after filming was done, it was a different process from dramas.
Having to watch the same movie over and over might be torture… But since it’s my first time, I won’t know until I get there.
Listening to talk about the premiere, Suhyeon thought of his own debut work, now unknown to anyone.
The days when anxiety and nervousness turned into excitement and joy.
The more positive reactions he got from viewers, the more attached he became to his debut.
Like taking out a cherished item to look at again and again, he watched the video multiple times, and eventually memorized all the lines of the female lead and other characters.
There was no use memorizing scenes that had already been filmed, but at the time, he was just happy to have a work that others recognized.
“Lee Seohan. It’s been a while.”
“Hello.”
“Hiii.”
While the two were chatting about movies, a man approached.
His bushy beard was unkempt and made him look scruffy, and his round glasses gave the impression that a beret would suit him perfectly.
Bearded-ajeossi…?
With his plump build, he looked for all the world like the unemployed guy from the neighborhood.
Judging by his career, he was a giant in the photography world, but you’d never guess it from his appearance.
“Can I call you Suhyeon-gun?”[1]
“Yup! Jakkanim!”[2]
“Jakkanim, come on. Just call me teacher. Teacher Jihoon.”
Thick, round glasses, a slow way of speaking, a bear-like chubbiness, and even using honorifics with a child…
Even with his lack of expression and monotone voice, Jihoon somehow gave off a warm impression.
“I agonized a lot over this month’s calendar theme… but when I spun the wheel, it landed on a father-son relationship. So today’s concept will be dad and son.”
“…?”
Suhyeon, who had been smiling brightly, blinked and looked at Jihoon’s face.
His matter-of-fact manner was so natural that Suhyeon had to wonder if he’d misheard.
A wheel…? Did he really say a wheel? He just told us the theme today, and even picked it with a wheel?
Suppressing the anxiety creeping up on him, Suhyeon turned to Seohan.
And despaired.
Hyung’s awkward smile means I heard right… Can I really trust this guy?
Jihoon was a photographer with undeniable skill.
But outstanding skill didn’t say anything about a person’s character, and it wasn’t a perfect indicator of trustworthiness.
…Just look at Director Eulhong. Still, this guy seems way nicer, so let’s not stress and just get through the shoot.
Since he’d basically given up on making money from this, Suhyeon was treating today’s shoot as a “good experience.”
A sunbae he got along with and a skilled photographer.
Not an ad that needed to make money, but a calendar model shoot for next year, with all proceeds going to charity.
It wasn’t a stressful environment, so Suhyeon felt at ease.
Not that I’m planning to half-ass it.
…With that rather admirable thought, he brushed it off—only to regret it the moment the shoot began.
“Hmm. I don’t like it… Again.”
“Your expression looks unnatural. Again.”
“It doesn’t feel like a father-and-son. Again.”
Even when the results looked fine to others, Jihoon kept rejecting them and shaking his head.
Despite his generous appearance, he was extremely picky and had his own firm standards.
After endless rounds of “again,” they were finally given a break after two hours of shooting.
“I think they look fine, though.”
“…I don’t know what he’s not happy with, either.”
Suhyeon grumbled as he accepted the water Sangil handed him.
He’d checked the shots in real time and knew what Jihoon had taken.
The photos were perfectly decent and could have been used as-is.
Is he being extra picky because of the names involved? Does he just hate things that are merely okay?
Suhyeon couldn’t understand it, but there were people like that.
People who kept trying over and over until they “accidentally” got a perfect result, and called that effort.
Even if that effort made things harder for everyone else, the logic was that it was all worth it if the result was good.
And then the creator at the center hogs all the credit.
Of course, in the entertainment world, where appearances mattered, the list of people who benefited included the lead actor or the main idol.
Having spent four years as a background extra, Suhyeon still felt a twinge of loneliness about that, even now that things had changed.
Maybe it’s just my bias, and he really thinks something’s missing… But if he doesn’t explain, we’ll just go in circles.
Maybe Suhyeon’s grumbling worked.
Jihoon, who had been chatting with the staff, called out to him as he rested.
Maybe because his feelings toward Jihoon had changed, the same blank expression now seemed rigid and inflexible.
“Tough, isn’t it?”
“No, I’m fine! It’s work, after all!”
With a tone that sounded like he was trying to comfort him, Suhyeon shook his head and answered.
He wasn’t young enough to be soothed that easily.
“If it’s not tough, that’s good.”
“Teacher, you can speak casually! Suhyeon’s only six years old!”
“This is what’s comfortable for me, so don’t worry about it.”
“Ah, okay…”
Jihoon cut off Suhyeon’s aegyo without hesitation and gazed down at him, who barely came up to his waist.
Suhyeon met Jihoon’s gaze through his glasses.
Hidden behind the Lloyd-style frames, Jihoon’s eyes were actually quite narrow and sharp.
Did I do something wrong…? No, he’s the one being picky.
Under that piercing gaze, Suhyeon reviewed his own attitude during the shoot.
He was sure the one nitpicking was the other guy, but he still felt like he’d made a mistake.
“Suhyeon-gun, do you see the person taking the photo as just a shutter?”
“…Sorry?”
“Or do you just not trust them?”
Jihoon tilted his head back and forth, mumbling in the same flat tone as always.
But despite the ordinary delivery, the content was brutally sharp, so Suhyeon feigned innocence and tilted his head.
“Teacher, that’s too hard, I don’t get what you mean…”
“Kids in showbiz really are sly. Ah, that’s a compliment. Adapting to survive is something to be praised.”
“…”
Jihoon, insisting his not-so-complimentary words were a praise, kept his gaze fixed as he spoke again.
“Anyway, I’d like to stop playing around, too. How about you start showing what’s inside?”
* * *
“We’ll start shooting again.”
After about thirty minutes, the staff announced the resumption of the shoot.
Suhyeon, who was playing the son, handed his drink bottle to Sangil and headed for the set.
His steps were light, but his mind was a tangled mess.
“With technology these days, the overall skill level has dropped. If you shoot with a decent setup and run it through some software, you get a passable result. There are a lot of people who are worse than experienced models.”
Jihoon’s words had caught Suhyeon off guard.
He’d seen right through Suhyeon’s unconscious thoughts, and had even figured out his abilities to some extent.
“You want to ask how I knew, don’t you? There’s someone around me who can perfectly picture how they’ll look in the shot just by knowing the camera position.”
…There really are monsters in this world.
Suhyeon reflected a little.
After his regression and gaining what could be called a superpower, he’d started to think he was the center of the world.
Building good connections and a successful career only made that feeling stronger.
But even without regression or new abilities, there were always people who were monsters from the start.
Guess getting younger makes your thinking younger, too. Center of the world, my ass.
It was true he’d experienced something special, but that didn’t mean he was more special or superior to others.
And even if he’d spent four years as an idol, thinking he could get better results than a pro after just twenty-five years and a regression was arrogant.
Of course, there were “pros” who were worse than me… but thinking they all were was just my bias.
Letting go of the idea that he was special, Suhyeon’s perspective widened a notch.
And as his perspective widened, so did his attitude.
“…Hmm? Suhyeon, did you put on makeup during the break?”
“No? Why, hyung?”
“It’s just… your skin looks brighter.”
It was enough of a change for others to notice.
If Suhyeon’s vibe before the break had been like a carefully arranged bouquet, now he was like a vibrant, living flower.
His current energy was so lively and eye-catching that it was only natural to feel that way, but it was true he’d become even more attractive.
Maybe others sensed the change, too, because more eyes were on Suhyeon than before.
Looks like I’m on the right track?
Watching them, Suhyeon smiled to himself.
[1] “군” (gun) is an honorific used towards boys. It’s very rare to use it in non-formal settings.
[2] Suhyeon called him “작가님”(jakkanim). It’s like a general honorific for those people in the arts. I guess the closes equivalent in English is “artist,” but it sounds odd to me.
